Concupiscence
by Shandare
Summary: Dean finds out what it's like to be in love. Madly, terribly, hideously in love. I'm still figuring out were I'm going with this. Rated T but that may change. It could get rough out there.
1. Chapter 1 Introduction

**Concupiscence**

Lighting arched through the sky as the man slumped gasping against the tree trunk. He had been running most of the day, and he knew that somewhere behind those clouds, the sun was sinking.

It meant that he was going to die.

Not that he minded, really. Recently life had begun to pretty much suck – school was rough, his girlfriend had dumped him for some stupid jock and his mom had begun to date this guy that was the ultimate in stupid. He had needed to get out. He wanted away from his friends laughing smirks and his mom's desperate eyes. To get away from all the crap that was dragging him down. So he grabbed his Ipod and headed down to Millans lake just to chill and maybe take a few drags on the joint he had nicked from his ol' pal Patrick's locker.

He had found a cool place on the far shore and settled down to relax when he'd heard a noise just to his right. He looked up and his whole life changed.

He fell insanely, hopelessly in love.

The darkness began to move behind him and he lurched away from the tree, stumbling through the undergrowth, pushing himself harder and harder. He was going to run, run until his lungs burnt or his heart burst.

He was going to run because that's what she had wanted.

He was going to run and she was going to kill him.

He would do anything for her.

Anything.


	2. Chapter 2 Welcome to Greenville

_All Supernatural characters and settings are the property of lots of people, none of whom is me. If I had my hands on Sam and Dean, I'd treat them a lot nicer…a lot nicer…_

* * *

The car stank.

It reeked out of the roof, the sides and the dash in an invisible, silent cloud. Sam glanced over at Dean, who sat trying to conceal his wince every time the draught from the window picked up the stink. The stench was so toxic that it continued to shock Sam that the vinyl of the seats hadn't begun to bubble and foam.

"For the love of God, Dean, we've got to clean this thing."

Dean glanced lazily over to his younger brother, "Nah."

"Man, this car is _ripe_. We've gotta do something soon or I'm gonna puke."

"You will so not be puking in my car bro'."

"Like you could notice the difference."

Dean's hand snaked out to clip Sam across the back of the head, his eyes never leaving the road. "Don't diss the car, man."

Sam snorted loudly in response and leaned further out the window in an attempt to find fresher air. The car's odour was the result of their last hunt. For years pets had been going missing in the Verde Hills area of southern Florida, only to turn up with their guts eaten out. In the past decade it had graduated to young children and adults who were sick or injured. The most recent victim had been Johnson Rami, a college basketball star had broken both his legs and right arm in a car accident. His buddy had left him that morning on the back porch. Rami had been gone when he swung by three hours later. After two days, his mostly eaten remains had been discovered by a search party in nearby parkland. Sam and Dean had soon picked up the scent – no pun intended – and arrived to deal with what turned out to be a zombie. Unable to locate the houngan who would have created it, they had planned to deal with the zombie with the more traditional methods of disposal, but as usual had run into some 'on the job problems' as Dean would say. It instead turned into a frantic race down an interstate highway that ended with the car fishtailing and smashing into the zombie, destroying it instantly. It seemed it had not been a typical drug-induced zombification, whoever had made the thing had reached into the beyond, because as the car slammed into it, the living corpse had disintegrated into a kind of brown and red chowder that had stunk. And which continued to stink, despite stopping at a 24 hour self-service car wash and four days of travelling.

"I swear Dean, if we don't do something about this smell the car is going to dissolve around us."

Dean didn't take his eyes from the road, but inside he most definitely agreed with his brother. The car did reek. Course, it'd be a cold day in hell before he ever let Sammy know. He noticed a road sign flash past, "Hey there's a town coming up called Greenville, we'll pull in there, stop for the night and see if we can find a car detail place so we won't offend your sensibilities. 'Kay, wuss?"

Sam rolled his eyes in a much-put-upon-younger-brother way he'd perfected years ago and silently urged the car to go faster.

It was another dodgy motel in the middle of another town that was just big enough to warrant being on the map. Greenville had started with some kind of industry once, but time had worn it down along with everyone who lived there. The main street was dotted with going-out-of-business sales and a number of houses had for sale signs. Ezy-Rest Motel sat on the outskirts of town, its red neon light blinking in an almost hypnotic rhythm, designed to lure travellers from the road and into its slightly seedy embrace. Dean gave his head quick shake as he strode out of the manager's office and towards the Impala. Damn man, he had to do something about these mental monologues. He wasn't the one who was supposed to be waxing poetic that was more Sammy's territory. The thought of his brother made him glance to where Sam slumped asleep in the passenger seat. He'd crashed about an hour ago, and hadn't moved. Dean paused briefly to look down at him through the window. He loved his brother fiercely, and he'd die for him without a second thought but sometimes, he didn't understand what was going on in his head. Take what had happened to Jess. There was something else that had gone on, something that had happened that Sam just wouldn't tell him about. In fact he'd flat out refused, claiming that there were some things he needed to keep to himself. Whatever the hell that meant.

Dean knocked sharply on the window causing Sam to jerk awake. "Hey, wake up and get your ass out of my car. We've got a room."

Sam groaned and opened the door, "I wasn't asleep, your car knocked me out with its stench. God, who'da thought zombies would stink so much?"

"Different kind of weird dead, different kind of fun quirks." Dean grabbed a couple of bags from the backseat and headed for the motel. "We'll find a car detailing place, get my baby fixed up nice and proper and head on out."

"Will a town this small have a car place?"

"Yeah, manager told me where to go while you were sleeping your butt off, and 'cause every things closing down, price should be nice too."

"I'll bet he told you where to go…hey, Dean."

"What, loser?"

"Come here and look at this." Outside their room was a newsstand with the motel's half-hearted attempt at a complimentary newspaper. The Greenville Gazette, like the town, had obviously seen better times but it still trumped the headline, "Fourth missing person – police stumped." Sam grabbed it from under its rusty cage and headed over to where Dean had opened the door to their room. "Seems the town's had a rash of missing persons."

"People go missing all the time. Doesn't necessarily make it one of ours." Dean tossed the bags on the floor and collapsed onto the bed. "Wake me when its morning," he cracked one eye open in Sam's direction, "and I mean a decent hour of the morning, not that five am crap you pull."

As Dean settled himself down to sleep, Sam stared at the paper in his hands. There was something else going on here. He could feel it.


	3. Chapter 3 Going Fishing

_Disclaimer: Don't own anyone. Promise. And I'll only pretend that I do in my head. _

_If anyone spots problems, corrections needed, or has a review, don't hesitate to let me know. _

* * *

"Nine hundred bucks, Sam! Nine hundred goddamn dollars!" Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, "If that zombie hadn't already been one of the un-fucking-dead I'd head back there and kill its dead ass."

"Sure, man," Sam replied, smilingly self-consciously at an old couple who had quickly crossed the street when they spotted the furious man storming their way, "Just chill okay?"

"It cannot cost that much to get exploded zombie guts outta a car…" Dean continued to mutter as he slid open the door to the diner. Like most the town, Twilla's Café had seen better days, but it was neat as a pin and the food was hot and tasty. Or at least that's what the motel manager had promised them. Keeping in mind of course, Sam mused, that this was the same guy who last night had promised a great deal at the detailing store.

Dean stormed under his own dark cloud to a booth in the back; Sam ducked his head and smiled apologetically at the waitress behind the counter. One of the things he had picked up travelling with Dean and his father, _never_ piss off the people who serve you food. Things just got way ugly.

Dean buried himself behind the café's menu, with the occasional mutter rising from behind the cracked brown plastic. Sam slid over and leaned against the wall, making sure he had a clean line of sight to the door and windows. Even in the middle of his piss-fart, Sam had noticed, Dean had done it unconsciously. John Winchester's training may had been unorthodox – and mildly psychologically damaging – but it certainly did stick.

The waitress ambled over. She was a solid woman who had perhaps a few too many meals that ended with the phrase, 'well just one piece more'. Red hair tried to escape from the two pencils that held it back in a loose bun. The resulting look eerily resembled an exploding bowl of spaghetti. "Morning gents, what can I get cha?"

The sight of a woman, _any_ woman, worked to pull Dean out of his funk and the two ordered breakfast and quickly wolfed it down.

"So how long did they say they car would take?" Sam quizzed, scraping up the last of his eggs with the toast.

"Duhhno," Dean swallowed around his coffee, "A day or two at least, apparently the…stuff… has seeped under the floor, so he's going to have to pull it up to get it out."

"'Kay then, what are we going to do to fill in the time?" Sam stretched out the length of his six foot frame, "It's kinda weird having free time on our hands."

"And not much of a town to fill the time with. Maybe we can catch a movie somewhere in this dump. I wonder what's playing?"

The Fates, never ones to tolerate tempting of any sort decided to intervene. The diner door swung open with a bright jangle and the local police hurried in. Sam jerked his head towards the two officers and Dean casually glanced over.

While they spoke in low voices, their conversation carried clearly over to the brothers. "Wendy," the larger of the two cops leaned heavily on the counter, "the Jackson boy has gone missing. They saw him last headed out to the lake. Have you heard anything?"

"God, not Bill and Anne's kid? Do they…do they think he's run away?" Sam noticed how odd it was that the waitress sounded so hopeful that the boy had run away.

"'Fraid not. We found some tracks beside the north shore, but…well they just vanished on us."

"Geez, Larry, this is getting outta hand. What does this one make? Five?" Wendy the waitress twisted her hands in anxiety.

"Six." The smaller of the cops spoke up from where he perched on one of the stools, his back to Sam and Dean. "I know, I know," He held up his hand as if to ward off an argument, "no one believes anything happened to old Tom, but the man doesn't just wander off and leave his hut empty. It just don't happen."

Sam looked meaningfully at Dean, "I told you it was one of ours."

Dean carefully turned back, making sure he kept one eye on the cops, "A bunch of missing people don't make it spookfest Sammy."

"Something's going on here Dean, I can feel it." Sam knew he couldn't explain it to Dean, at least in a way that would get him to understand. There was something crawling in the air, something that made everything seem just a little wrong. A little off. He'd noticed it last night when they arrived at the motel, and it seemed to leap of the page of the newspaper. Everything it the town was dying as if the life, the vitality, was being drained away.

Dean watched his brother carefully. He knew more and saw more than Sam suspected he did. He knew his younger brother could touch the world in a way that wasn't quite…ordinary. Where Dean had his cockiness, Sam had an ability to reach out to people, to flash those sea green eyes and to get them to trust him in a way his older brother never could.

And now all this stuff that had started recently…if he kept it up, Sam would soon be starring alongside Jennifer Love Hewitt. However if he thought that some of the spooky had started here, then Dean would believe him. The cops headed back out to their car and drove away, leaving the waitress quietly cleaning the counter. "Come on, let's find out then."

"Hey, what's up?" Sam slid into the seat the cop had vacated. "Did something happen? Was someone hurt?"

"No, no. Nothing for you boys to worry about."

"Maybe it might be something for us," Dean sat a couple of stools down, playing bad cop to Sammy's good cop. "We're good at handling other people's problems, especially those they're not quite sure they want to admit to in the first place."

The waitress took a step back, smoothing her apron over the rumpled pink uniform, "Just who are you boys?" Her eyes darted from one man to the other, trying to get a fix on just who had come into her place.

They seemed ordinary enough, but there was a sense she couldn't place…a sense that they were somehow dangerous and it left her unsettled. She'd worked this diner for nearly fifteen years and seen people come and go and had always prided herself on being a good judge of character. But these two…when they had first come in she'd thought they were together – 'together' in the way that had those politically correct air quotes around it. There was an easy familiarity their easy manner and banter.

"So, just who are you boys?" she repeated.

Sam shot a glace at Dean, signalling he had an idea. "We're bounty hunters, ma'am. Heading east to see if we can get a line on a bail jumper, but if you've got something happening in these parts, we'd be glad to lend a hand."

Wendy seemed a little unconvinced, "You look a little young to be doing something like that."

Dean snorted softly, "Well, it's something of a family business."

Wendy began to unfold the horror that had come upon Greenville in the last few years. Millan Lake had always been a popular area for families and couples to go and relax on weekends and vacations. Remote enough to feel like wilderness area close enough to town to still be able to get all the amenities. But strange things had begun to happen at the lake. It started three years ago when two girls had apparently committed suicide together, then a husband murdered his wife and then drowned himself and now the number of the missing was quickly approaching double figures. None of the deaths were similar or hinted at some knife-wielding madman. Nothing suggested there was anything unnatural going on, other than the regular, run-of-the-mill breakdown of the human psyche. But still…people were staying away from the lake.

The plump waitress shook herself out of the reverie that her story had brought on. "We're all probably over-reacting, mind. This is a small bump on a tiny line in the middle of nowhere on a map." Her face firmed as she tried to convince herself, "Nothing ever happens here."

As the two men left the diner Dean glanced over at Sam, "Don't know about you but it's always seemed to me that the middle of nowhere is the freakiest place to be."

"Let's see what the fishing's like at the lake."

"I think you might be right Sammy-boy. We might find ourselves pulling in a big one."


	4. Chapter 4 At the lake

_Disclaimer: Don't own either of the boys (my nights would be a lot more fun if I did) and don't own anything to do with Supernatural. I just get to play with them occasionally. The quote, of course, is from the episode 'Bloody Mary' and was written by someone much better than me and who actually gets paid to play with Sam and Dean and to put them in life-threatening situations. Lucky sods._

* * *

The ride down had been uneventful. After hitching a lift from a local, Dean and Sam had arrived at the start of the trail that led down from the road and towards the lake. The browns and greens of early autumn blended with the deep blue of the lake to create a sight that was postcard peaceful. Birds flashed past quickly and in the distance three canoes set the pace of a leisurely paddle.

It was a scene so drenched in tranquil that it set Sam's teeth on edge. He was becoming surer that this place was being used as camouflage. Since they had first arrived in the area the feeling that there was something evil underneath the surface had been growing. It was like being a radio tower constantly set to receive. The signal was there, slowly building with the rumbling roil of a thunderstorm. Sam felt as if he were standing at the edge of a storm front while the air around him sparked with ionisation.

Something was coming. He could smell it.

"Well, if this isn't the centre of all evil. Watch yourself Sammy, a game of football may break out any minute. Hey, are those guys there about to start a picnic? Evil bastards." Dean smirked as they walked slowly across the grass to the small jetty. The three canoes were now nothing more than specks in the distance.

"Come on, let's walk around to the other side. That's were the boy was seen last." Sam headed off, and with a quirk of the eyebrow, Dean followed.

"Not an unpleasant place to come to waste some time, but you seem gung-ho about this all of a sudden. How come?"

Sam shrugged unconvincingly, "No reason. Just interested I guess."

Dean waited a beat. "Interested. Right. And this is just the normal wander around a pretty lake interest, right, as opposed to the Jonathan Edwards kind of interest? You'd just let me know in advance if I need to worry about my eyeballs bleeding okay?"

"Hey man," Sam glanced over quickly, "I'd never keep secrets like that."

"Yeah," came the murmured reply from his back, "sure."

Sam winced as he kept along the path that led around the lake. He could hear the reservation in Dean's voice, even if he didn't say it out loud. Yes, he was guilty of keeping things from Dean. Things he had thought weren't important to anyone else but him, things that had just been…private.

_Frustration showed on Dean's face, "Ah, you know that's it." The rain beat down as the Impala slid to a stop on the side of the road._

"_This is about Jessica isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret? That you killed her somehow?" Sam was stared straight ahead, resigned. "Sam this has gotta stop man. I mean the nightmares and…and…callin' her name out in the middle of the night. It's gonna kill you." Dean's voice deepened, "Now listen to me – it wasn't your fault. If you want to blame something blame the thing that killed her. Aw hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place."_

_Sam looked at him sharply, "I don't blame you."_

"_Well you shouldn't blame yourself. There was nothing you could'a done."_

"_I could have warned her."_

_Dean glared at his brother in exasperation, "About what? You didn't know it was gonna happen! And besides all of this isn't a secret. I mean, I know all about it. It isn't going to work with Mary anyway."_

"_No you don't." Sam murmured._

"_I don't what?"_

"_You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything."_

_Amazement and disbelief stole across Dean's face, "What are you talkin' about?"_

"_Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?"_

The dreams he had had of Jess dying like that, the dreams he had ignored, were his own to bear. He didn't want to share them with anyone, especially Dean.

All he'd ever wanted was to be normal, to fit in with everyone else. He didn't want to be the one who was different, to be the odd child who never used the same last name twice, and whose transcript had huge chucks of weeks and months missing. He'd always been the freaky kid, who acted funny and said the wrong things at the wrong moments. But he'd been able to tolerate because he hadn't been alone. He'd had his brother.

If there was one person in the world he wouldn't be able to handle looking at him like that, it was Dean. It had always been the two of them against the world.

Until it wasn't.

When he'd left he'd burnt his bridges, a lot of them with Dean. He'd been the one to start a new life that didn't include his older brother. He'd turned himself into 'Joe College' and in some ways he still wanted to hang onto that rather than turn back into a freak. He didn't want the world to see him that way again and he most goddamn certainly didn't want his brother see him as any weirder that he already did.

'Course after some of the weird shit that had been happening recently, he was pretty sure that in Dean's mind he'd become the mayor of Freaksville.

They had almost quartered the circumference of the lake and the canoes were closer now. The terrain had become rougher and the undergrowth denser. Sam led the way with Dean directly behind him. They couldn't keep this up much longer, the sun beginning to set and they needed to try and hitch a ride with someone at the campsite back to town. Otherwise they'd be hiking it back, and there was no way that Dean would leave that alone. Sam flicked the hair out of his eyes. If they had to walk back to Greenville, Dean'd ride it – and Sam – for weeks.

"So I think we'd better…what the…!" Sam began.

"Shhh," Dean hushed as he pulled Sam behind a tree. "Quit stompin' around and listen. Over there." They could hear it moving in the bushes, with sudden, hasty bursts of speed. "Go; head it off at the lake. I'll circle 'round back."

Sam nodded and moved ahead of the sound. The rustling was constant but uneven, as if whatever if was had begun to stumble. He found a small group of rocks near the water's edge and crouched low. A moment later, a dark hunched figure burst out of the underbrush and staggered down to the edge of the lake. Sam came carefully out from behind the rocks to head it off. Dean burst out behind it, causing the figure to swing around and collapse to the ground.

Dean had his gun out and aimed steadily as the figure reared back up again.

"Must run..." the gasps were almost inaudible.

"What…what did you say?" Sam took a step closer.

"Sammy! Stay back." Dean circled around, never losing his bead on the dark and bloodied outline and never letting Sammy get in his line of fire. "Hey dude, you're looking a little worse for wear. Wanna sit down and tell us about it?"

"Must…" from somewhere the figure gathered a burst of speed and bolted down the lake shore, heading south for the campsite.

"Goddamn," Dean muttered as he shoved his gun into his jacket and took off after Sam and the…whateverthehell.

Why couldn't anything ever be easy?

And why did always have to involve running?

Sam took a flying tackle at its knees, sending them both crashing to the ground. There was a yelp of pain as Sam was kicked in the face as the figure struggled to rise. Dan slid to a stop beside his brother as he got a good look at the thing they had been chasing for the first time.

It was a young man, probably barely out of his teens. Deep, ragged claw marks rent the side of his face and shoulder and oozed dark blood. The front of his pants were covered in blood and he slouched over, his arms wrapped tight around him.

"Hey man just chill," Sam held his hand out and moved closer, as if he were talking to a frightened animal. Which, Dean reasoned, wasn't far off the mark. "We're here to help. We can get you out of here."

"No, no I can't leave," he gasped, "I can't leave her. She wants me to do this, to be here, and I'd never leave her."

"Leave who?" asked Dean.

"My mistress. My love." The man's eyes rolled towards the dense vegetation with a look of complete adoration. "I want to please her so much, don't you understand?"

"Gotta go with the nu-huh there man. Look I'm sure this chick, whoever she is, doesn't want you to die out here." Dean signalled to Sam, urging him to get ready to jump the guy. Sam leaned down into a runner's crouch, waiting for his brother's signal to launch forward.

"Oh, but she does…she does…" The man raised his arms in a gesture of supplication, and as he did Dean caught sight of why he'd held onto himself so tight.

He'd been gutted.

From his sternum nearly down to his crotch was a large jagged tear, as if something had grabbed him from behind and torn up. His pale intestines were clear against the dark blood of the hideous wound. They moved and shifted as he took a step back to try to regain his balance, looking for all the world like worms crawling over a bowl of red jelly.

"Aw, gross." Dean looked sick.

Sam was sure he was going to vomit.

The man grabbed his abdomen and hunched over again, attempting to keep everything in place.

"Dude, you gotta get to the hospital," pleaded Sam, although he knew it was unlikely anything could be done for the poor bastard. It was a miracle he was still alive.

"I can't leave, she needs me. She wants me. _She_ wants _me_. She wants me to do this for her." His stare intensified as he looked between Sam and Dean. "To run and to die."

His face spasmed into an awful rictus of a smile, part agony, part pleasure, all worship. "Mistress, mistress, oh, my love…"

With a burst of energy he sprinted through the gap between Sam and Dean, heading back north into the denser brush. Dean spun and headed after him, Sam on his heels.

For a man who was leaking his guts all over the forest floor, he sure moved fast. He zigzagged thought the scrub, doubling back then heading off at angles. He was fast for someone who should be well and truly dead.

"He's trying to lose us." Sam panted as he and Dean rested against a trunk, trying to catch their breath.

"No, I don't think its us he's trying to lose." Dean looked up towards the treetops.

"What do you mean?"

"Up there, in the shadows of the trees. Something's following him."

Sam watched as a shadow detached itself and leapt from one tree to another, following the sounding of the running man.

"Come on," Dean's hand tightened on the gun, "Let's go."

"No," Sam grabbed his arm, "We've got no weapons and no idea what it is. It'll be dark soon. We can't just head off after it."

The frustration in Dean's eyes was clear, "It'll kill him and we'll lose it."

"It's not going anywhere Dean. This is its hunting ground. It'll stay here. Anyway it's going to take some time to finish…playing…with…him."

"That's a little harsh Sammy," Dean tried to see his brother's expression in the shadows as he put the gun back in his jacket.

"He was dead when we talked to him. His body just hadn't figured that out yet. There's nothing we can do to save him, but if we do this right we can save the next one."

"Come on then," Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder as they turned and headed back to the campsite. "We'd better be able to get a ride back to town man. I will not be happy if we have to walk all the way back."

"Don't you want to walk? You getting arthritis in your old age? God, soon I'll be wheeling you around everywhere." Sam began to follow him.

Dean raised his arm and Sam snorted, "What? What's that? Middle finger straight up in the air? Does that mean I'm your _number one_ brother?"

"Bite me Doofus."

"Yeah, real cool Dean, real cool." Sam smiled as they continued on. If there was one thing he could count on, no matter what kind of things the universe threw at him, it was his brother. God, he was grateful for that.

He couldn't imagine his life without it.


End file.
